First
by whereyoursoulresides
Summary: He had always been first in everything. First of his name, first chosen to lead and protect, first love in the eyes of an adorer. First to swear allegiance, and the first to break away. But before his ultimate plunge into the Dark Kingdom, Kunzite had a first life. From simple peasant boy to powerful leader of the Shitennou, this is his story. KunzitexZoisite, KunZoi, KunxZoi.
1. Prologue

_When the world came to be, she was the last born. Shrouded in darkness, her siblings were older and more mature, and in their adult disinterest, left the babe to fare on its own._

 _As the babe breathed, she gave life. Every breath pushed new flora, every exhale breathed oceans and rivers. As her skin toughened, mountains rose. When she cried, lava spit forward, and wounds sealed to become land. From land grew trees, and from trees grew air, and from air grew companionship._

 _As she grew, she wished, and her spirit would rise from deep in her lava-heart, and up through the cracks of her skin. Her spirit would take form from the land, the sea, the leaves, the wind… and thus became a new, unique being of its own - another child, you might say. And she had many children._

 _But as her siblings would prove, not all children are k_ ind.


	2. Birth

Beneath her, the earth was quaking, and high above her head, the sky was being torn apart by deafening thunder.

She was alone, in their tiny mud-and-rock hut that was hardly furnished and no bigger than a noble woman's closet, but the space around her felt immense and never ending. Grabbing her swollen belly, she ran across the threshold to find a space, any space, that may protect her. The puddle at her feet splashed dully as she tore through the house like a desperate, lumbering thief, trying to find some place, any place, that would give her relief.

Finally too weak to look further, she yanked open the tiny closet door and collapsed inside. The walls were hardly wider than her shoulders and there was nothing in it but some dry hay and sacks of grain, but they braced her in ways her bed could not; the walls held her back in place; the sacks let her legs rest on them and elevated her without effort. Above her, her wooden deities lined the shelf, but they were overturned and mortal in the wave of such pain.

Pain electrified through her suddenly and she gave a scream when she felt her flesh between her legs slowly stretch open. She had no midwife to see how far she was dilated and if it was alright to begin pushing, but she needed to push. If not, it felt as though they would both die from the exhaustion of it all.

Blood spurted forth and its warmth oozed along her thighs, and her screams continue to pierce the night, nearly shaking the heavens with a comparable force. In her loneliness it felt as though she was at the end of the world, at the last door between life and death; who would find them and help them now, in the tiny womb of a closet, where both she and her child may die? What gods would be watching them now, hidden in this tiny crevice, as they both struggled to breathe and draw life into their lungs? Certainly not the wooden idols, although one remained standing. Its stone eyes were an eerily faint red, nearly a pink, as it looked passed her grieving in labor.

Her skin was glistening with sweat and her body was shaking with each push. As this birth was new, each inch of flesh felt foreign and excruciatingly unexpected and painful. With each squeeze of her muscles she let out a bellow that could rival the thunder above, and while her blood rose in adrenaline, so did the night sky with its terrible orchestra of clashing swords and earth-shaking rumbles.

Just when she thought she could take no more, at its peak, she gave one final scream, one final push, and the heavens crescendoed along with her. The flash of lightning blinded the hut white but she did not notice it, concentrating on the last remaining flesh that slowly slipped free from her grasp.

When all was done, she collapsed back in exhaustion, panting heavily. The world above receded humbly, and for a while, nothing could be heard but the sound of her breaths and the pitter-patter of the falling rain.

After a few seconds, the silence turned foreboding. There was no sound. Instantly she sat upright, and reached forward in the darkness to grope at her child. Finding it, she carefully picked it up and found the umbilical cord wrapped around its neck. With tears springing into her eyes and her heart nearly stopping, she quickly undid the fleshy strand and held the baby fast to her.

"No…" she whispered. "Please…" She could not hear the baby breathing, nor feel its tiny chest twitch or rise. As reality sank in, her face cracked with agony and she slowly bowed her head forward, pressing her forehead to the sticky mess on its smooth belly. Her tears slipped free and fell like rain on its flesh.

Suddenly, there was the smallest of coughs, and she felt a twitch beneath her forehead. Lifting her head, she felt the smallest of tremors, the tiniest of jerky movement; ..., another cough, an inhale of life, and finally, the softest coo she had ever heard.

Very slowly, as though she would break him, she pulled the child close and wrapped it tightly in her warm, blood-stained apron. He was not crying, only making the softest of mewls and gurgles as she slowly brushed his soft, new head. Although it was dark, she could see him so clearly, her moonlight eyes having adjusted to see through blackness as well as in daylight...and she could see his soft, tiny face, his serene expression, his contentment in her arms. He had no inkling of how close to death he had been...or if he had, he bore the news like a hero returning to the trembling common folk.

"My child," she whispered, a smile finally cracking across her lips as tears sprung into her eyes. In her arms she felt the strangest of tingles, as though he were touched with a halo of magic she could not understand. "My precious boy…"

Even as she undid her linen and slipped her swollen nipple in between his lips, he did not cry or fuss. He latched on without education, and he suckled so softly and serenely, she wondered if he was drinking at all. But he was, and he was enjoying it, so at peace in his mother's arms that he had no need for crying in the new world. He already understood the universe in which he had been delivered.

Tears welled back up as she held him tightly, loving the smell of his new head and the tenderness of his brand new flesh. As she began to rock back and forth to the quiet hum of an ancient lullaby, she knew what she was holding was special. Of course, every mother thought their firstborn special, but she knew she was holding so much more. An incarnate, a physical being of power itself, and it was here, a lit and alive, trembling and mewling in her arms, destined for things she could not imagine. She just knew .

She did not know how long time had passed when the door to the closet was thrown open, and her husband stood before her, panting in relief. She hardly noticed him when he rushed to her side and lifted the cord for cutting. When she felt the snip of the blade she thought she'd be devastated; instead, she sensed a different kind of bond between her and her child, one that could never be broken so simply. He was hers, and she would do whatever she could to protect him forever.

As she was lifted onto her feet and her husband carefully helped back back onto the bed, she didn't dare release her child. Even when he came back with fresh linens and offered to take the baby, she would not let go. Instead her husband had to settle with gazing at his firstborn from the sidelines with pride.

"Name?" he asked her, as he placed is one good arm around her.

As she gazed down at the baby, with his dusty skin and the faintest glimmer of silver hair glowing around his skull, she was reminded of the faint pink stones that had watched through her.

" ...Kunzite," she finally answered.


	3. Babes of Soil

From the wide wooden cradle next to her bed, Ala heard her baby coo.

A smile creeping on her face, she turned around beneath the early morning mist filtering through the window to place her hand on the cradle's edge. Her first son always woke up considerately - gentle, patient, waiting.

"Good morning, little one," she whispered, and her smile widened when she saw her baby's squinting open eyes. His newborn bangs had sprouted a cowlick, spurting forth like a fountain's shoot. Lightly Ala brushed her fingers beneath it to sooth it away; Kunzite reached up and grabbed her finger carefully and securely.

"It's a new day today," Ala said as she slowly rose up from her bed. With her husband constantly travelling, she often spoke to her babe to fill the quiet silence. She figured it must be good for him too, to hear words in her language before he was to learn Elysian. Heaven's knew Hesson would teach it to him. "Come now."

She scooped him up in her arms and brought him to the bath basin to begin the day.

* * *

Ala was at the loom when she felt a heavy tug on her skirt. Looking down, she saw her nine-moon-old babe haul himself to his feet using her skirt for balance. She smiled proudly and continued her looming while Kunzite took his first few awkward steps. The gentle thudding of his chubby feet hitting the ground was music to her ears.

* * *

"Sweet boy, where are you?" Ala called, as she pretended to check from one side of the hut to the other. "How will Mama find you?"

There was a little squished giggle from the corner where they kept the rice and the flour. Ala hid a little smile and slowly tip-toed over to the corner. At the last moment she dove her hands into the toppled bag of flour.

"There you are!"

Kunzite sort-of squealed with laughter, that is to say, his laughter was more like a burst of squishy, delighted air. Drool dripped freely as he stuffed his hand in his mouth, all covered in the white dust.

"Look at you," Ala playfully chided. "Let's get you clean, little man."

She brought him over to the table where she placed him on his back. His other hand, strong for his age, had hauled an old used canvas bag with him. Try though she might, Ala was not able to pry it from him.

"Look what I found in my flour," she said as she carefully wiped him down with a damp cloth. "A little bread loaf! Is that what I found, child?"

Kunzite answered with a wide-grinned gurgle.

"Ku-uh!"

"Yes, you're right! I found Kun!"

She began to dry him, making himself silently squirm with delight. When she was finished he still had not relinquished the rough flour bag, so Ala decided to wrap him with it.

"Silly boy," she smiled softly as she brought him to her chest. He was already distracted and chewing on the end of the bag thoughtfully. His heaviness was deeply satisfying, and as she held him close she inhaled deeply, soaking in his new baby smell. "What shall I do with you, hm? My dear boy. My sweet little…" She ran her thumb down the soft doughiness of his brown skin, and smiled lovingly.

"My sweet little...bread loaf."

* * *

The pot was whistling, and Ala rushed to remove it from the fire stove. At that moment, her husband came in through the door, bedraggled from his trip to the market that day.

"Welcome home, husband," Ala called as she lifted the heavy pot onto the table.

Hesson grunted quietly in response, too tired to say much else. He undid his cloak, hung it up and went to give his wife a little kiss on the cheek. "Is Kunzite sleeping?" he asked, rubbing his one good hand against her arm.

"Hm? Yes."

Hesson glanced at the cradle, which was empty, and his head started jerking from side to side. "...My dear wife," he finally said, "where is our child?"

Ala didn't seem too worried. "He's sleeping in his sack."

"What?"

"The sack. On the back wall."

Hesson turned and to his alarm, saw his one-and-half year old son quietly snoring from what looked like a swaddled canvas carrier hanging from the wall. Quickly he rushed over to the baby and unhooked the carrier.

"Ala," he said, worriedly and exasperatedly. "You can't do that. He could've fallen!"

Ala looked over at her husband, vaguely perplexed. "It's no different than a swing," she said, putting a bowl of soup and bread on the table. "He sleeps better suspended."

Indeed, Kunzite was still dozing, a bit of drool creeping out from the edge of his open mouth.

"Please use the cradle," Hesson asked. "I made it rock so you wouldn't have to swing him."

Ala didn't seem to fully hear him, or if she did, chose not to.

"I know that's how your family did it, tying any cloth to a beam and putting the baby in it, but that's not safe," Hesson tried again.

Ala simply continued to ignore her husband until supper was fully set at the table. "Come sit, husband, please," she suggested. "You need to eat. It will help with your defense system."

Hesson suspected she meant to say 'immune system', but she hadn't enough Elysian for it. Agreeing, he roughly settled down at their table with the tightly swaddled Kunzite laying in the crook of his arm.

"He's getting so big," Ala said softly as she took her seat next to her husband. "I can hardly lift him with one arm now."

Hesson looked back down at his son and tested his strength with Kunzite. "Big and strong," Hesson said proudly, "that's what he'll be."

As Ala sipped at her soup and watched her husband rock Kunzite with his muscular arm, she couldn't help but smile.

* * *

"I'm worried about him."

Ala continued her knitting. "I don't see anything to worry about."

"He doesn't talk ," Hesson whispered.

It was a rare, quiet summer evening, and the three of them were enjoying the tranquility in their cozy hut. Ala was steadily stitching a new hefty pig-shaped pillow for her son, while Hesson was watching him play, and worrying.

Ala liked the sound of her needles clicking. "Not all children are talkative," she said simply.

Hesson glanced back at her. "He hardly makes a sound."

As though Kunzite hadn't heard him, the two-year-old continued his business, tumbling little shaped cubes and spheres into a toy bin with designated holes. It was one of Kunzite's favourite toys, and he could sit at it for hours.

Ala glanced up at Kunzite briefly and smiled, completely unperturbed.

"He has his way of speaking," she simply said again.

Hesson shook his head, still not convinced. He pulled his chair over to his wife and leaned in close.

"He's rarely laughed," he whispered.

Ala quietly exhaled and shook her head at her husband's ignorance.

"Just because he is quiet does not mean he doesn't feel, or think," she whispered back. "Now leave him be."

Hesson continued to watch Kunzite, who had now lifted the lid and had shaken the blocks out by tumbling the wood cannister over.

"Please tell me he has spoken to you," Hesson tried again. "Even in your language."

Ala tried her best to contain her patience.

"Of course," she finally said. "He whispered something to me the other day."

"What was it?"

"We were lying on the bed, after lunch," she started, not looking up from her work. "He had the sweetest smile on his face."

"Mnhm."

"And so I asked, 'Sweet child, what makes you so happy?'

"And?"

"And at first he didn't say. He simply smiled, lying with his arms and legs spread out. Like the sun on a lazy summer day."

One could tell this story was not putting Hesson's nerves at ease.

"And so I came closer. 'My little bread loaf,' I said, 'what is your secret? How can I be happy like you?'"

Hesson nodded again.

"And he peeked at me, and he whispered, 'I'm full.'"

Hesson blinked, not expecting that to be Kunzite's answer. "'I'm full?'' he repeated. "Full of what?"

Ala nodded calmly.

"I asked the same. 'Full? What of, child?'

And he smiled at me, the most contented smile I have ever seen. And he says to me, in the smallest whisper,

'I an full of...'"

Ala paused then suspensefully.

"'...rice.'"

Hesson slowly raised his head to nod, a little unsure of the punchline, despite Ala's small, deeply satisfied smile.

"Well...as long as he has spoken," he amended. "He hasn't said anything to me."

"He is probably just shy."

"I'm his father," Hesson protested disgruntedly.

Ala decided not to point out that her husband was not home often enough for Kunzite to establish that kind of bond with him yet. She knew it would only hurt him.

"He will in time," was all she said.

At that moment, there came a little shock of sound from Kunzite's direction, and both parents' head jerked up. Hesson was already on his feet when Ala saw Kunzite pulling his hands back - rather than placing the toys in their selected slots, he had laid them on the ground first, and dropped the lid with the holes perfectly aligned. In doing this, he had managed to "shove" all four toys through the holes at the same time. He seemed very pleased with his little revelation, and did it again.

Relieved that Kunzite was okay, Hesson sat back down, and noticed Ala's smile. "What is it?"

She shook her head and returned to her knitting.

* * *

The father was out again, and it was just the two of them on a quiet winter night. Kunzite was hugging his big pig-shaped cushion close to his chest as he listened to his mother's tales by the fireplace. In the shadows of fire smoke he saw stars, monsters, beasts and nobles. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the stars sparkle for real, and softly twinkle down to touch his cheeks. He could almost swear the stars were real.

Her tales were always so captivating, and Kunzite loved listening to them. His mother had a soft, lyrical voice, and often spoke in repetitions. Kunzite liked this and found it most consoling - it made him remember what was most important to the story.

Through her tales she showed him castles and knights, and shadows who punished the wicked and left sweets for the good. She wove vocal tapestries of the night-gods, the sky-gods, star-princes and the moon princesses, and their operatic tales of torrid drama and epic proportions. She loomed him the beginnings of Gaia and how the Earth-mother had been abandoned as a baby. Kunzite always thanked he was not Gaia.

She also told him about the shadow-beasts, the ones they call youma in Elysian. The Unkind Children of the Gaia tale, who Gaia made in her loneliness and anger. These stories scared Kunzite the most because they were double-faced - by day they wore the mask of humans, but night they transformed to horrific ghosts and ghouls. His greatest fear was that someone he knew may one day transform into youma, and the only person he knew was his mother.

But Ala was always kind, above all else. Seeing Kunzite clutching his pig-pillow, she would always reassure him, in her soft, deep, lyrical voice - the Unkind Children were not unkind out of pleasure. The were unkind because they hurt, they wept, they were alone. Even the worst Unkind Child could be persuaded differently, if only you were to lend a quiet ear, and a gentle heart.

"And if you ever fear you are not brave enough," his mother soothed, "draw strength from here."

She would dig her fingers deep in the soil, and overturn the lush richness to reveal all the different magic stones, bright colored pebbles that were to ward off different misfortunes.

"The earth will ground you, and help you find your place."

Kunzite used to inspect them almost religiously, etching every scratch and facet to memory. "Why?" he asked.

"Because they are of Gaia herself," Ala would say, "just like you and me. What you feel in your hand, you also have, in here."

And she would touch skin over his heart.

* * *

Kunzite was about two and half, and quietly following the gold curved runs on his mother's handmade rug, when something new happened.

"Kunzite, child," Ala called, but Kunzite was too engrossed in the detailed loopy threading. Hesson had to pick him up, although thankfully Kunzite never fussed about being broken out of his concentration.

"Come when your mother calls you," Hesson murmured pointedly as he placed Kunzite before Ala. "She has something important to tell you."

Kunzite nodded respectfully. For as long as he could remember, he both feared and deeply respected his father. Hesson was strong and scarred like an old bear, but his presence always felt safe and warm.

Ala smiled, and only then did Kunzite notice the great big swelling of her belly. His mother often wore loose robes and dresses, so Kunzite had never noticed anything new...until now.

"Little bread loaf, come feel."

Hesson faintly smiled. "I think he's getting a bit old for that nickname, my dear."

Kunzite ignored his father and slowly raised his hand to place it on his mother's belly. When he felt something kick he was startled and jerked his hand back.

"No need to fear, child," Ala reassured. "Come." She offered her hand, and Kunzite let her slowly guide his palm to rest onto her stomach. Kunzite felt the same kick a few more times, and eventually his alarm lowered.

"What else does it sound like, Kunzite?" Ala asked.

Kunzite thought about it for a while, very solemnly. Finally he could find a single conclusion.

"A heartbeat, Mama," he answered quietly.

Hesson's smile widened and he nodded in agreement, looking a bit proud of his son. "You're right, Kunzite," he said, reaching forward to rest his own hand on Ala's belly. "You're going to have a little baby brother."

"Another little Kunzite," Ala clarified. "A little friend to play with."

Kunzite hadn't seen any other children at this point and had little points of references. He closest companion he had was Pig, the real pig his family owned. Kunzite and Pig got along really well, he really liked Pig.

"You'll be a big brother," Hesson went on. "And you know what we do when things are smaller things than us?"

Kunzite nodded. He struck his heart four times like he had seen his father do.

"That's right," Hesson said proudly. "We protect them."

Ala never liked Hesson teaching Kunzite that symbol.

"That's not necessary," she said, reaching out to gently lower Kunzite's hand from his chest. "Just love your brother, as you would Pig. You look after Pig, don't you?"

Kunzite nodded. He always made sure Pig was okay. He fed him and petted him and watered him. Pig was important to the family, and Kunzite also just really liked him.

"Well, maybe a little better than Pig," Hesson grinned.

Kunzite couldn't see the differentiation, but he could tell how important this was to both his parents. He glanced back at his mother's belly and slowly reached out to stroke it, and smiled. Maybe the new baby would be his best friend. Maybe there would be more love in the house. The thought of that made Kunzite smile even wider.

"I won let you down," he called to his mother's belly. "I promise. See you soon, baby pig."

* * *

But it was not an easy baby. And it was nothing like Pig.

It was small, that was as promised. But it wasn't quiet, and it certainly was not another Kunzite.

It was loud, and it cried all the time. It wailed as though in pain, and Ala had to hold it all the time. For the moment she would let it go, the crying would increase a hundredfold.

It lived in Kunzite's cradle, and Kunzite had to sleep at the foot of his parents' bed, between their bed and the wall of their tiny cottage-hut. Hesson had made a proper bed for him there, but Kunzite felt so far away from his mother; he had always slept in the crib next to them, or in the big bed itself.

And Ala was always tired. There were no more stories, no more singing by the fireplace. Instead it was always crying, and always hushing. Ala would try to calm it, but it never seemed to work. Kunzite wondered at times if the baby had swallowed a molten rock, for it always seemed to be full of fire, and wanting to cough and spit it up.

Hesson was still out a lot, whether it was farming or selling. In his absence Kunzite tried his best to be good, but it was hard. It was hard seeing his mother so tired, so sad. After a while, the baby cried so often that Ala and Hesson would try to sleep through it, though Kunzite never could. He would lay awake and count the shadows sliding on the roof above.

One night, when Ala and Hesson were fast asleep, the baby cried again. Although his mother and father did not seem upset, Kunzite was. He was tired, he was angry - he was so angry of the constant noise. It never seemed enough for the baby, but it had been enough for him.

Finally, Kunzite could not take it anymore, and silently he crept out of bed. He crawled over to the crib's side, and watched the baby cry in the darkness. It wept with such ferocity that Kunzite ever wondered how it found time to breathe. Above him, his mother's face illuminated in the darkness; with all the new lines on her face, the deep bags under her eyes, Kunzite made up his mind. He reached forward and picked the baby up.

No one seemed to notice that the wailing was growing distant, or that Kunzite was out of bed. Holding the baby close, he wandered out of the hut and into the black, grassy plains before him. He was not afraid of the dark tonight - the full moon was out, and Kunzite had excellent sight in the night. That and, he doubted any Unkind Children would dare go near the screaming child in his arms.

When he reached the little river by the farmlands, he sat down and put the baby within the reeds. It kept crying still and Kunzite stared at it, trying to understand why. Why it was crying, why it was even in existence. Why it had to ruin the happy quiet they had had.

He broke a few reeds and put them on top of the swaddled baby, as an extra "blanket." He didn't say goodbye. He turned around and began walking back to the house.

But before he had reached too far, the baby's cries changed. The pitch was different now. Instead of viciously screaming, it was now coughing. Weeping. It sounded lonesome and pitiful, like the whine of a baby dog, or the pathetic chirp of a dawdling duckling. Kunzite suddenly stopped. It sounded...small.

Small, and it needed Kunzite's help.

Kunzite bit his lip and glanced back over his shoulder. Now the baby was hiccupping, and groaning. And Kunzite felt terrible.

Making up his mind again, Kunzite slowly worked his way back to the river side, and glanced down at his baby brother. In the moonlight, the baby looked withered, tired. It looked so shrivelled and weak, so pathetic that Kunzite could not understand why he had felt so strongly against it for so long. It was a baby.

Slowly, Kunzite gathered the baby back up into his arms. Seemingly exhausted now, the baby merely hiccuped, followed by a quiet moan. Kunzite tried to rock it lightly as he had seen his mother do, and it seemed to help. The baby grunted and drooled a few times, before Kunzite felt it slowly grow slacker and slacker against him. By the time he was back at the house, the baby, for once, was fast asleep.

The next morning when Ala woke, she was shocked to find the crib empty. Throwing on her robe and waking Hesson, she rushed to find her second baby boy. She had just passed the end of the bed when she saw Kunzite, curled up on his bed, with something beneath his arm.

It was his baby brother, and both were sleeping peacefully.

* * *

After that night, Hesson made a point of making a larger bed for the two brothers. Malak never seemed to be quite as colicky as before, so long as he was under Kunzite's arm.

After Malak came Tsavor, who was even louder. Thankfully by then, Kunzite knew exactly what to do, and it was Malak's turn to try his hand at being 'older brother'. After Tsavor came Sibr, a sweet, quiet little boy not unlike Kunzite himself, but was much shyer and burrowed whenever anyone but Tsavor came to see him. His return brought some calm and relief to the house, but it was never fully the same.

As the house filled with more and more people, warm and bustling as it was - sometimes Kunzite could see the ghost of house before. Though he would never voice it - for he knew it would crush his mother's heart- there were times he would wonder if anyone else remembered it when it was just the three of them.

Just Mama, father, and Kunzite.


	4. The Birth of the Young Lord

It was a warm October day when Kunzite first heard the news.

The three of them - he, Malak, and their father - were out and about in the nearest town centre. Although he was only nine, Kunzite didn't mind coming along to help his father. He wasn't a fan of the talking, but he liked watching people mingle around them. When their father was busy, sometimes he and Malak would be allowed to play in the square, where there were trees they would climb together. There they would have their mother's leaf-wrapped rice lunches while sitting on the strongest tree limb. Kunzite liked eating on the branch, for it was quiet and serene, and allowed him the best view of the town.

On this particular day, Kunzite and Malak were unloading their family's wagon full of produce. Their father was chatting with the grocer, doing their usual haggle, when the wrinkled gentleman offhandedly mentioned his surprise at the amount they were bringing.

"The soil's been good," Hesson said, gesturing to the fullness of their crop.

"Oh I don't doubt that," the grocer replied. "But don't you need some for the Lady?"

Hesson's thick brows knitted together quizzically. "Eh? What for?"

The grocer gestured to towards where they had just come from. "The Lady up the hill, past the forest. Lady Celes. She's got a boy. The gift-giving is tonight."

"A boy?" Hesson looked over at his own two sons, who were watching the conversation happening, wondering if it pertained to them. "When did this happen?"

"About a month ago, but they weren't sure if it were going to live."

Hesson frowned. "I don't remember a wedding…"

The grocer shook his head. "Nah, at least, not here. Heard something about them getting married overseas, maybe. But I haven't seen hide nor hair of the Sir, I'll tell you that."

Hesson's smile disappeared and he looked back at his cart. The grocer reached over with a small handful of coins.

"That's all I can spare today, I'm afraid," he said. "I got to give the Lady my own gift, and I can't afford the fancy trinkets here. Birth taxes, they's going to be end of me, I promise you."

* * *

When they returned home, the cart was not as empty as they had originally hoped. Some of it now had to go to the lord's house as part of their tax. Thankfully, in lieu of groceries, Malak and Hesson had managed to sell a couple of handmade wooden toys for the townspeople to use as gifts themselves. After speaking with Ala, the family went about putting together the additional gift-basket for the new lord's arrival gathering that night.

"It seems like such a waste," Hesson was muttering quietly to Ala, frustrated. "There is already the tax, the gift doesn't seem necessary…"

Ala merely shook her head and placed her hand on his arm. "If the rumors are true, then she will need all the help she can get," she said in a soft voice hardly above a whisper. The boys didn't need to worry themselves about the farmland politics and gossip such as this.

After a couple of hours, the basket was complete. Ears of colorful corn protruded forth, surrounded by bright red tomatoes, while hearty brown mushrooms and deep red potatoes lined the basket's woven bottom. Although Hesson seemed slightly despondent that this was necessary, Ala did not seem to grieve their loss as she threaded the leaves of the corn just so.

Next to her elbow, her youngest son held up a bedraggled flower. "Mama," Sibr chirped.

Ala picked it up and smiled down at him. "Thank you, Sibr." Although worn, the sunflower was a festive match with the corn. Sibr's best friend and elder brother by one year, Tsavor, grinned behind him as the two watched Ala pair the flower together.

Across the other side of the table, both Malak and Kunzite were watching, transfixed. Kunzite personally found the beautifying the basket strangely soothing, while Malak merely observed intently in thought, noisily exhaling through the reed pipe in his mouth.

"Can we come up with you and Father, Mama?" Malak asked.

Ala took a moment to answer as she finished the basket with one final touch: a homemade quilt, sewn with bold designs of the night sky and local petals, just big enough for a toddler to sleep with. Once done, she stepped back to lower herself into the wooden armchair behind her, but wobbled precariously. Instantly both Kunzite and her husband shot to their feet with hands outreached just in case, as Ala's great pregnant belly made it difficult for her to balance at times.

"You can go with your father, Malak," she finally answered as she settled into the chair. Kunzite noticed that his mother's stomach was much larger this time than before. Perhaps the newest brother would be the biggest of them all. "As well as Kunzite, and Tsavor and Sib'r as well, if you wi-."

"Don't want to go," interrupted the four-year-old immediately.

"Tsavor," Hesson growled lightly, and the child quickly hushed for her to finish.

"...If you wish," Ala ended patiently after a pointed stillness. She looked over at her two eldest sons. "Malak, why don't you speak for our family." Although Hesson didn't mind making the chatter at the marketplace, she knew her husband was not one for fancy noble talking. In this way, she observed her eldest son to be the same, preferring to keep to himself or behind the crowds.

Malak immediately perked up at this new responsibility, and her husband reached for the basket with his one arm. Seeing this, Kunzite's arms immediately jutted forward out to grab the basket first, not wanting his father to strain himself with his one arm.

Hesson grunted in thanks and rose to leave. "Tsavor, if Mama tells you to, you run straight up the hill to the house, understood?"

Tsavor nodded, but the four-year-old was still quite young to be out by himself. Ala gently placed a hand on his shoulder, indicating that she did not feel he needed to leave. After all, it was not as if she hadn't given birth without her husband before. "Go now," she gently pushed Hesson.

Kunzite carefully picked up the basket, and despite his unusual height, its bottom hovered just an inch above the ground. Excited, Malak leapt from his chair and got ready along with his father. After the three of them were swaddled necessarily in their cloaks, Hesson reached over to his wife and gently kissed her on the cheek.

"Stay safe," he murmured. She nodded and watched as her husband and two eldest sons left the house to embark up the forested hill. As soon as they disappeared from sight, both Tsavor and Sibr unfroze from their good behavior and began to play with their usual rambunctiousness.

* * *

When they reached the door, Kunzite was awed by the impressive size of the manor. He had never been up here, and the sights of stone and ivy were foreign and new to him. The texture of the stones seemed different than the ones he had found around their mudhut, and he wondered if it was possible to sneak a pebble home as a souvenir.

The main door swung open, and a servant lead them through the cold foyer and into the warmth of the main living room. Malak was still carrying his reed but was smart enough not to blow it in the new environment; their father's solemn silence was reminder enough for them to be on their best behavior.

There was already a small crowd, mostly of servants and other serfs and villagers who had just finished presenting gifts. The room was lined with baskets of a similar ilk, and one of the servants was carefully ticking off names from a piece of parchment. Kunzite could sense his father's discomfort; his father was used to serving with noble purpose, not as fruit bearer. Malak, however, seemed more interested in counting how many wooden toys in each of the baskets were the ones they had sold earlier that day.

As they neared the center of the room, the crowd parted to reveal the noblewoman. On the largest armchair, nearly a throne by Kunzite's imagination, sat Lady Celestite, cradling her newest born. She was a very young and beautiful woman, hardly much older than a youth herself. The light of the nearby fireplace lit her brass ringlets a flame, and Kunzite was stunned by her nearly ethereal beauty. In her sheer gown of many layers and earth-brown eyes, Kunzite could imagine her as one of the delicate spirits from his mother's tales.

As they approached the mistress of their land, Malak appeared unintimidated by his surroundings. His shoulders were straight and his head was high and confident.

"My lady," he proclaimed clearly and loudly, and Kunzite wondered where he had learned how to speak in such a manner, "from the clan of Hesson, we bear our gifts!"

Preferring not to have the crowd on them for long, Kunzite quickly stepped forward to place the basket on the ground. When he had placed it by her feet, the mistress glanced into its offerings. Sighting the quilt, she reached forward and drew it to her, and her lips parted in admiration of its work.

"This is lovely," she said softly. "What beautiful work." Carefully she lifted her baby up to wrap it in the new gift.

Malak grinned at the compliment, glowing with pride on his mother's behalf. Curious, Kunzite stepped back and stretched his head up, wondering what the baby looked like. It seemed so small - all of his brothers had been so much bigger.

Seeing Kunzite's interest, Lady Celestite smiled a bit. "You may step closer," she offered softly. "Come, he won't bite. Please meet your new lord."

Both boys immediately drew closer, and she turned her arms to reveal the tiny thing. To Kunzite's surprise, it was even smaller than he had thought. It's eyes were closed, sleeping contently, but Kunzite could just make out the beginnings of long eyelashes against its pudgy skin. The baby's face, round-cheeked and petite, looked disproportioned to the ears that seem to project perpendicularly from its head. Then there was the faintest of brass fuzz, like its mother's, glowing around his skull, and the smallest sprout of a curled lock grazed its forehead.

"It's cute," Malak announced. Kunzite wasn't sure if his brother was being polite or genuine. "What's it's name?"

Celestite drew the baby back, and the movement roused it temporarily. Squinty eyes opened blearily and Kunzite momentarily caught the sight of the baby's irises - an astounding shade of deep, leafy green - before they closed, settling into sleep once more.

"Zoisite," Celestite answered with a smile. "His name is Zoisite."


	5. Lost Child

"Kunzite, are you sure you can handle it?"

The twelve-year-old began hauling the large heavy sacks off the cart. "Mn," he told his father, the last bag landing at his foot with a heavy _thud._ "I'll be fine."

His voice was so quiet that one would have assumed he was trying to smooth the prepubescent waves from cracking and faltering, but Kunzite was simply soft-spoken. He didn't see the point in using his voice unless it was absolutely necessary.

His brother, on the other hand, had an entirely different philosophy.

"I can't wait to chat up those girls at the clothes-maker's," Malak said excitedly.

"Remember, you're supposed to help me sell, not win a date," Hesson reminded his second son.

Malak grinned and hopped back onto their cart. "Two birds with one stone," he said instead, rather cheekily.

"No."

Kunzite had to hide a smile at his father and his brother. Before loading himself back on, Hesson turned to Kunzite with a gauged, slightly concerned look.

"You sure you'll be fine," he confirmed questioningly.

Kunzite nodded again, rolling the pack onto his shoulders. "I know my way," he murmured. "And I've done it before."

"Make sure you get what your mum needs - I think she wanted some eggplants…remember how to negotiate…"

Malak couldn't help but laugh. "Kunzite could just frown at them and they'd give it to him!"

Kunzite didn't appreciate his brother's teasing and scowled at him.

"Forget what he said," Hesson said, raising his good arm to lay a hand on Kunzite's shoulder. "I trust you. You do us good, understand?"

Kunzite nodded, this time finally smiling just a bit.

Hesson grunted approvingly and hauled himself into the cart's driver seat. "We'll see you back at the hut at supper time."

He whacked the reins and the donkey was on its way, and Kunzite watch his father and brother disappear into the distance in the rocking, swaying cart. Once they were completely out of sight, Kunzite readjusted his packs and went to work.

* * *

On the other side of the marketplace, the Lady of the land and her son were milling the marketplace for the first time in a long time. Cloaked in refined modesty, they were accompanied by her gaggle of handmaidens and nurses. They were here to enjoy a pleasant stroll in the summer air, as well as to observe how the commerce was going.

"Did we bring enough for the picnic?" Lady Celestite asked her maidens, as they made their way down the market road.

"Yes, my Lady," one of the maidens quipped. "We have quite a lot of fresh grapes for hydration, and enough sandwiches to fill us."

The beautiful young woman looked over at the stalls, her gaze sweeping with regality despite their doe-deer size and thick, youthful lashes.

"We could do with more, couldn't we, ladies?" she asked softly, though there was a twinkle in her voice that indicated she had already made up her mind. "Zoisite, dear, what would fruit would you like?"

Her son, who was holding onto his nurse's hand, raised his head. He looked around and saw a big box of colorful balls.

"Oranges, please, Mama," Zoisite answered. Oranges were his favourite, because they were same color as his hair.

"Oranges, please, _mother_ ," the nurse corrected him.

Lady Celestite ignored the nurse and nodded to her entourage. One of the maidens went forth to purchase a whole bag's worth. When she came back, Zoisite automatically raised his hand up for it.

"Let her hold it for you, Zoisite."

Zoisite shook his head, wanting to be useful. "Please, Mother," he asked.

The maid handed Zoisite the little canvas bag, which was big and heavy enough that the toddler needed both hands to carry it. Yet, his whole face lit up with a pleased expression. He loved being helpful, and sometimes wished he had more chances to do it.

"You be careful with it now," his nurse warned. "Don't you go losing any."

Zoisite shook his head. "I promise," he said, toddling along.

The group didn't get too far before a cart came pulling up behind them. The sound of the donkey's snort startled them, and the ladies jumped and swirled around, pulling Zoisite to them and huddling around their mistress.

"My apologies," said the man on the cart gruffly, who has a wild black cowlick and short cropped hair. He had a cloaked boy sitting next to him, who was looking at Zoisite curiously.

Lady Celestite relaxed. "No worries. Please, be on your way, good sir."

The tanned, black-haired man nodded at her. "M'lady." The women parted to one side to allow the cart to pass. When the man and his son were on their way, Zoisite suddenly had to stamp his feet in excitement.

"A baby horse!" he exclaimed.

The ladies giggled and Lady Celestite placed her hand on his shoulder. "No, sweetheart," she said, giggling as well. "That was a donkey. Come, let's be on our way."

Resuming in their huddled formation once again, the group continued their trip down the road, with Zoisite clutching his bag of oranges in excitement. What a day!

* * *

Meanwhile, Kunzite was doing his due diligence with his work. Dropping off the woven fabrics wasn't too hard. As they were one of the few local suppliers for textiles, haggling wasn't much of an option. These were some of Kunzite's more preferred transactions, as they were straightforward, simple, and did not require any chit-chat.

Selling the vegetables was a bit harder. Most of the area was farmland and thus certain vegetables could be in surplus. It didn't help that Kunzite also had to be more careful to keep the vegetables from bruising - especially from the occasional rock thrown by the village hoodlum boys.

It wasn't unusual for Kunzite to encounter these bullies on occasion - his glow-pale hair and silent disposition made him a bit of a target. Kunzite also suspected it had something to do with his mother, for she rarely ventured forth into the village, as it was a predominantly Elysian-speaking town. He was not privy to gossip, but there had been times when Malak got very angry - angry at the things he had heard, the things they were calling them. Angry enough to engage in fights of honour, fights that often dragged Kunzite in as well, in order to pull Malak out to safety.

After finishing his last transaction (ignoring Malak's voice that he seemed to intimidate them a bit), Kunzite went onto get the groceries for his mother.

* * *

They were standing at the jewellers' when Zoisite first noticed his bag was a little lighter. Curious, he looked over his shoulder and saw that one of the oranges had slipped from the pack and rolled about a metre away. He glanced up at his mother and her maidens, who were all busy poring over the gems. This something Zoisite would normally love to do, except his nurse didn't dare let him touch the valuable sparklies.

Seeing that everyone was busy, Zoisite calculated how long it should take him to get the orange and back. It was within distance, so it was easy in theory. Making up his mind, Zoisite slipped away, making his way over to the lone orange a couple of stalls back up from where the came. Just as he came up to it, the hem of someone's cloak would brush it away, and Zoisite continued his little journey.

It hadn't occurred to Zoisite that the orange eventually ended up very far away. He simply followed it, assuming he could backtrack fairly easily. However, once he had grasped the fruit and popped his head back up, he found his vision swarmed with people. And his mother was nowhere in sight.

"Mama?" he called, but now he couldn't even hear his own voice among the rumble of people. "M...Mama?!"

He heard the volume of his voice then, when others stopped temporarily to glance at him curiously. Suddenly Zoisite remembered his nurse's words before they had left the house:

 _Don't shout, Zoisite. You want someone to snatch you away? That's what they do to little children who stray._

Zoisite was dismayed. _I should have never strayed!_ he thought to himself as he felt his body shrink smaller and smaller.

Suddenly everyone looked dangerous. They were all towering above him, and thinking of no other way out, Zoisite continued backing up. When his back hit the clay wall behind him, he jumped and saw the smallest of nooks between the houses. A crack so small and dark, no big person should be able to get him from there. Maybe he could wait until the market was quieter, and then find his mum.

Without a second thought, Zoisite darted into the tiny crack between the two houses, and ducked as low as he could, clutching the bag of oranges tightly to his chest. From this vantage point, he was just able to see between the two stalls before him, and had a clear view of everyone who was passing between, but no one could see him, hidden in the shadows.

And there he waited for a chance for someone to take him home.

* * *

Kunzite was trying to pick some decent vegetables from the vendor when something caught the corner of his eye. He was squeezing the end of a eggplant when he saw what looked like a ginger-haired child behind the stall. Disbelieving his eyes, he arched his head to the side and his vision was confirmed; indeed, as small as a cat, there was a little tiny child hiding in the skinniest of alleys.

In his puzzlement, the other eggplants slid from their crest on top of the one he was holding, and came tumbling down. Trying to quickly pick them up, he hurled to the ground to gather them all - which lead him to the crack of the alley, right in front of the little boy. The two froze and stared at each other for a while, neither being sure what to say.

Finally the little boy broke the silence. "Shh," he whispered, putting a finger up to his lips.

Perhaps he was playing hide and seek, Kunzite thought as he slowly put the eggplants back into his arms. Or perhaps he was running away, getting into mischief. Kunzite then turned to look and see if were any parents of noble heritage around, but the crowd remained common-appearing. Deciding that maybe he should just ignore the situation, Kunzite continued with the sale, occasionally flicking his eyes over to check up on the child. He hadn't moved, but was staring at Kunzite with the biggest, greenest eyes he had ever seen.

Finally finished up with his chores, Kunzite began to head back home. Figuring the boy would probably be picked up at some point, he didn't consider looking back until he had left the village. Once he was on the long dirt road, he began to hear the soft but distinct sounds of little footsteps thudding behind him. When they didn't disappear, Kunzite had to pause, and turn around.

Trailing about four meters behind him was the little noble boy, holding onto his sack of oranges. The sack seemed to be getting lighter and lighter, and Kunzite could see little spots of orange in the distance. Seeing he had stopped, the little boy did the same, just staring.

Kunzite was starting to get a little concerned, but he wasn't sure what to do. Would this boy follow him all the way back home?

He tried to think of what his father would do. Return him, undoubtedly.

"Uh…" Kunzite wasn't sure what to say at first. "I don't think you live this way…"

The little boy didn't say anything.

Kunzite scratched his head. "Look, I dunno if I can help you," he started. "Maybe you could -"

The boy didn't seem to have heard him, perhaps Kunzite had spoken too quietly. "Are you a boy?" the child called out in a shout.

The question took Kunzite off-guard. "Yes," he answered, loudly as well.

"Me too!" the boy shouted again.

Kunzite didn't like the noise and quickly walked back to the little toddler, who remained in place. Coming close, he decided to get down on one knee so he didn't scare the child with his towering height.

"Why are you following me?" Kunzite asked. "Your mum...she's probably back there." He gestured to the village with his chin.

The little boy glanced over his shoulder and then bit his lip. It was clear to Kunzite now that the boy was very much lost. He considered walking the boy back to the village, but by now they were so far that the sun would have set by the time they reached the market again.

"Do you…" The little boy's voice startled Kunzite out of his thoughts. "...have a mum?"

Kunzite's brows furrowed confusedly. "Yeah…"

The boy's hands tightened on his bag. "Then…" He looked quite frightened to ask his next question. "...May I come with you?"

Kunzite couldn't say he entirely understood the boy's logic, but since the little one looked very close to tears, he decided there was probably no better alternative.

He rose to his feet and nodded.


End file.
